“Hang on,” he said, and she reflexively obeyed.
She locked her arms around his neck.
And he actually managed tostand up.
With all five foot nine of her in hisarms.
As if he was rescuing her from aburning building.
He must have thighs like pile drivers. If she wasn’t half unconscious from lust before, that realization would have pushed her over the edge.
She was going to get to touch them. She was going to touch everything she possibly could while the little red numbers scrolled away the half hour she’d stolen.
The next breath she drew in was ragged and literally hot. As if the two of them had turned the room into a furnace with a surfeit of lust.
He stood like that with her in his arms for a millisecond longer than he needed to. To prove that he could, perhaps. To turn her on just that unbearable bit more.
“I just assumed you wouldn’t be able to stand by now,” whispered the wicked, cocky man.
He lowered her to the settee, and she landed with a soft whup.
He reached over and slid out his desk top drawer, rummaged for a second and retrieved exactly what she thought he’d been looking for. “Kid brought them to school to use as water balloons. Expensive ones, too. Boy, was his dadpissed. And mortified.”
The crackling of that package. The erotic, portentous clink of a belt unbuckling.
The rustle as she peeled off her own underwear and bunched it in a fist.
So romantic.
And yet.
He joined her there, his shadowy bulk hovering for a moment, then looping his arms around her and rolling her into his arms on the narrow expanse as if he were MacGyvering her out of the way of an explosion. The only way they’d fit properly on the settee was if they were locked together. Which of course was the plan.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up against his hard cock, begging for release that was a mere few seconds of just “...please... Gabe... hurry... I...”
And as soon as he guided himself into her, she came apart. Her body arching like a cut wire. Her cells seemingly cast into the ether like flaming glitter. She stuffed her own fist in her mouth to keep the scream from escaping, and the sound she made was his name, and the bliss was nearly intolerable.
And he was moving now.
She slid her hands up under his shirt, against his hot, smooth skin and found his heartbeat thundering, and then slid them up to hold on to his shoulders. She locked her legs around his back to pull him deeper and closer. And her head went back hard when he thrust in deeply.
And the settee thudded softly against the floor like a goat trying to kick down a stall as he drove into her swiftly.
The dark room and the confines of the time and the space. The rushed, desperate, illicit hunger, the tacit understanding of their lives’ constraints—all of it was ridiculous and shockingly hot.
And underlying it was something scary—something beautiful and new and so dangerous they might as well have been making love in a hammock suspended between two stars.
“Eden... God...” His voice was a wondering rasp.
His breath was ragged against her throat, as she clung to bare hot skin, and in her ear as she tucked his head there, bracing himself, and her eyes stung from some powerful emotion.
And then he went still, and his body jerked beneath her hands and his head fell against her chest.
She held him while he shook like a rag.
The clock ticked over to ten p.m.
“Gotta go,” she whispered.